


Come all ye lost

by godbewithyouihavedone



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Cheating, Fanmix, M/M, Mentioned Laurens/Hamilton, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godbewithyouihavedone/pseuds/godbewithyouihavedone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When I am numbering my foes, just hope that you are on my side, my dear.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aaron tries to teach Alexander patience in his bed, and finds himself losing focus.  As the years go on, they leave each other behind. But Aaron cannot forget the beginning of their connection even as they hurdle toward its end.</p>
<p>A one-shot that’s really twelve ficlets in continuity, based on twelve songs for a fanmix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come all ye lost

**Author's Note:**

> Link to the fanmix: <http://8tracks.com/godbewithyouihavedone/come-all-ye-lost>
> 
> There’s a Dangerous Liaisons reference in here somewhere, spot it! Song list at the end.

_I know I'm alone if I'm with or without you  
but just being around you offers me another form of relief_

Aaron has always prized himself on self-restraint, careful planning, calculated movements. But those are merely the attributes of his public face. Underneath every other fool desire chafes. Pride and consternation, hypocrisy and fear, rubbing raw inside. And lust, easier to act and smother the desire with the doing. Yet immediate satiation is hardly wise, more scratching an itch than feeding a hunger.

He traces the shape of Hamilton’s shoulder, island-warmed skin stretched tight across gangly bones. Perhaps Hamilton cannot think of any of his great plans, from war to power to women to men, as disordered. The boy beside him is restless even in sleep.

As much as Aaron may self-flagellate, his sin is met, and maybe rivaled in scope. He was not the one who asked. Now they are here, again, and tonight when Hamilton had stalked toward him he found the wrong kind of hope. It is not his fault and it is all his doing, but he did not possess this itch until Hamilton burrowed under his skin.

_Ambitions like ribbons worn bright on my sleeve  
strange how we know each other_

Has it been a year? Listening to this boy chase after disagreements, searching for a scrap of importance? It is likely fruitless counseling him to take cautions while sharing his sweat. Perhaps the boy believes if he found subtlety or success, they would no longer meet to argue.

Though truly, he does not want to leave Alexander Hamilton’s side. They have tried keeping away; life draws them together again. It is like interlocking gears slipping past only to push on each other. Alexander Hamilton makes the world spin, his energy and enthusiasm burning. Damnable youth and innocence he wears in the hollows of his cheeks. Aaron still worries, even now, that he is siphoning those away with every night.

An orphan. A bastard whoreson orphan islander. With his father gone and his mother dead in his arms, all his worldly possessions lost to the tempest. Alexander had revealed it to him, one night. He grasped his knees at the edge of the bed, his voice shaking with every awful twist. After he finished, he jerked his head as if retching. “I don’t think I will ever tell someone that again,” he said.

He had wanted to thank Alexander for the confidence, but he had settled for making him scream. The boy cried, sometimes, during the act. Tonight they were angry tears, as if it was not right to take his body and his story, in one moment. Aaron had not known how else to soothe him. Sometimes the warmth and the burial of all your wants inside another was the only way to forget. There’s another lesson he hasn’t quite taught.

_When I am numbering my foes  
just hope that you are on my side, my dear_

“One moment you tell me revolution is pointless, then the next you beg Washington to accept your service?” Alexander asks. He always attacks even after he’s won. Aaron knows that by now. But he wishes that these passionate confrontations did not happen half undressed. With the boy on top of him, inside him, clutching at his open collar, it makes it damned hard to argue.

“You can create great trust and gain prestige as an aide,” he says. “Remember, the others know this as well. Lafayette is chasing some dream of heroism, but caution with Laurens is—”

“I know what Laurens wants,” Alexander says, and then he pushes forward, mouth shaping a sigh. Aaron cannot help the pit of jealousy sinking down into him surer than his lover. John Laurens has the same aristocratic background and well-worn tragedy. It draws Alexander like flies to honey, only he is ardent and horrifyingly reckless. If Alexander becomes his, he will suffer for it, but Aaron’s warnings always arrive before they can be pertinent. He feels like a Cassandra, yet even that is better than for his friend to become an Andromache.

“I know what Laurens wants,” Alexander is saying again, always able to pull him away from his own mind. “But it’s yours.” Aaron cannot help but kiss him, then. Terrified he will say more, terrified that is all the promise either of them can make.

_Oh dear, never saw you coming  
oh my, look what you have done_

Aaron can no longer pretend not to wait for him. They rarely stay in the same city, moments even more stolen than the last time in New York. Stolen, and rushed, and yet their separation is not a comfort, either. Not when he is almost sure Alexander has gone to his knees for gentle John Laurens.

He supposes it could be worse. Some men have their straying conquests beg to be taken in the manner of the one who last shared their bed. Alexander wants him to talk of freedom without fearing the future. His performance in other matters is still satisfactory.

They bow to each other over the punch. Pointing out the heiresses littering this reception echoes discussions shared in cramped tents. Alexander ran his mouth to prove women truly interested him. For Aaron, the form of his lovers has never been of particular import. He cannot think of women, anymore, but he cannot think of men either.

At the end of the night, he walks Alexander home. He shoves him against the door, grateful for the quiet street, the breaths his boy pours into his mouth. He is almost dismayed to hear him mention the attentions of Eliza Schuyler. But it’s another step on the path toward a legacy. If he has accepted Alexander, every molecule and monstrousness of him—and oh god, he has—he cannot say anything now.

_I was stood in your line  
and your mouth, your mouth, your mouth_

He shows up an hour late for his wedding with whiskey choked down for courage on his breath. John Laurens mentions Theodosia. Aaron can see past his blurry smile and to the possession that must still be singing inside. Alexander will likely never glean what causes so many to throw away their pride on him. Aaron saw at Princeton that genius had a way of warping even the most humble of men into magpies. But nothing proves the theorem quite like the man before him.

They discuss current entanglements. It is lovely to know that, all other complications aside, Theodosia would be in his arms for all the world to see. An easier dream than a reality, true, but he tires of every tumble ending in fear. Alexander is not yet pierced by a bayonet on the battlefield, Theodosia is not pregnant. The lots of his life happened to fall that there is less risk, now that he is in command.

“If you love this woman, go get her. What are you waiting for?” Alexander asks. Aaron sees the giddy satisfaction of marriage, proud in his stance. He wonders if that is the key, what could have kept him, in all his insatiable brilliance. If he had pulled him down and begged him not to leave that night, would it have made any difference? _I loved you,_ Aaron wants to say. _I waited for you to despise me for it. You cannot wish for my happiness now, not when you are gone from it by your own decision._

_And I won't join those who do not wait  
for they commit their love to an early grave_

In the end, they are both decorated commanders, liberators of the American people. Aaron wishes he did not know how the stories of the liberators ended, in Plutarch, in Exodus. He asks him to defend the constitution. But there are few experiences he needs less than long nights risking his glory on a mere document. A part of him, locked away tight, remembers and wants. But he is older, settled with a family and a purpose in law. Aaron sees that they would have torn each other to pieces, if it had truly progressed to love.

Hamilton approaches him about his upcoming maneuver. Aaron is shocked to hear his advice heeded. That night, he lingers by the window. Across the sprawl of New York, in Jefferson's house, the boy he thought he had not taught finds the power he never wanted to give him. Each decision could be the one to echo down the ages. Somehow, unknowingly, he has locked himself away from it.

“I want to give Phillip a legacy,” Hamilton told him when they defended their first client together. “People are dependent on what type of nation we will be. The world holds its breath. I have felt what it was like to starve. To subject a whole country to enfeeblement…”

He hadn’t seen then, but it is all threaded together. Hamilton showing off in the courtroom, running circles around redcoats on the battlefield, surging up against him in bed, and pushing through to his triumph in the cabinet. The lust he’d felt sustained him, and he had choked it from his mind until both parasite and host wasted away. It is no longer enough to be virtuous. God willing, he ought to be great, and he was taught how.

_Now the music divides us into tribes  
you choose your side, I’ll choose my side_

Aaron always excelled at reticence. He breaks down defendants in court with a few words. He captured Theodosia’s love with a smile, a hand on her waist when it was not strictly proper. It is true that he delays, but when the strike is made, it is invariably fatal. He defeats Phillip Schuyler and claims his senate seat through an attack on his service. Through one suggestion of the plans held by his son-in-law.

But oh, how his movements cost him. Hamilton can no longer bear him. He sneers at him on the street, and word filters to Aaron that in company, he names him an amoral turncoat. A part of him clings to that hatred. It is more than Hamilton has cared about him in quite some time.

Jefferson and Madison welcome him to their ranks, cautious due to his recent metamorphosis. But Hamilton’s ire helps endear him to them. 

He is a thorn in Hamilton's side, like state sovereignty and agricultural emphasis. It is hardly surprising what doors this opens. His former friend has achieved a great deal. Still, salted earth and casualties lie strewn behind him. When he speaks out in the Senate, he cannot help but watch him. As magnetic as ever, Hamilton argues against all Aaron stands for now. He watches him and thinks, _you are my favorite ruined place_ , and Jefferson asks him why he smiles.

_How I couldn't be what you'd need  
but oh, how I could make you bleed_

Aaron still cannot completely resent him. In their previous involvement, Alexander rejected his affections, but never acted cruelly. He continued on with his life, unable to apologize or slow his pace, all Aaron had known from the beginning.

Hamilton will not change. So it confuses him when Madison discovers his stealing from the government. Avarice is not among his many flaws. When he chases money, it is for honor and position, for fear he will never be able to leave his Caribbean island.

Aaron agrees to join them in the investigation. The real situation does not surprise him. Hamilton was often a fool for his lovers, and desperation stirs him to affection. That he would be caught in such amateurish blackmail is at least a trifle funny. Aaron broke apart a better marriage himself ages ago, so he cannot play judge.

But when Hamilton asks him for his silence, it is not something he can give. The public will not see it in the same manner. Hamilton fights with all he possesses. He uses his acerbic genius, spy network, and Washington’s support to achieve his goals. Aaron has his own tools, and they may not be as worthy, but he cannot lose this value.

The anguish in Hamilton’s features when he hints at disclosure almost makes him want to be a better man. A better man would not be senator, proposing legislation for land rights and the end of slavery. A better man would not have known what it was like to have Alexander by his side. So he leaves without a word.

_But see how deep the bullet lies  
unaware I'm tearing you asunder_

In the end, Aaron has no need to tell. Hamilton publishes pages of letters and confessions, sordid as a contraband novel. His fall from grace is not so far, most of his influence lost in his attack on Adams. But even as he holds his head high, weariness hangs about his eyes. An understanding of how his honesty finally cost him.

He barely thinks of Hamilton, nowadays, lost in a chasm of his own. Theodosia is not long for this world. His political ambitions are nothing compared to the solace of a few more days, only a few more days he prays each night, to hold his wife close.

He lowers Theodosia to the ground in Trinity Church. Letters begin to arrive, condolences that ring hollow in his ears. Visitors parade in and out of his house, bringing food and looking after his daughter.

Aaron runs. It cannot be fate that brings him to Hamilton’s house late in the evening. But he allows him in, and Hamilton does not offer any apologies or trite wishes. Instead, he kisses him. Aaron wants to cry in his arms and all he can do is pull at his clothes, let himself be pushed to Alexander’s study.

“Your wife?” he asks, voice shaking.

“She will not have me,” Alexander says. “There is nothing left to betray now.”

It becomes another habit of grief, to take long walks, avoid the gaze of his child, to bed Alexander. Their bodies are no longer perfect specimens. Inexhaustible lust has faded to quick fumbling, but it is hard to describe how much he has missed this.

He should have fought to keep him. Propriety be damned, there is nothing like how Alexander stirs his blood. Lust, anger, passion, irritation and love still course through him, underneath his façade. Tragedy knits them together as surely as success tore them apart. But the seams are uneven, and this time he knows Alexander does not feel the same. After they clasp hands for goodbyes at night, enemies again, Aaron presses that hand to his breast, guards the warmth there.

_And you rip out all I have just to say that you've won  
well now you've won_

One morning, Alexander hurries in dressing, and Aaron asks the occasion. “My son is engaging in a duel soon, and I worry,” he says. “I have told him to delope.” When Aaron calls his advice foolish, Alexander glares at him. “Better he should suffer than let it fall to the other young man. I can only count on the honor of his opponent.”

The papers tell him the rest of the story, and Alexander no longer summons him at nights. Grief brought them together, and he showed him every inch of his pain. Only now he is again placed at arm’s length, a fact that stings. When his friends discuss the public reconciliation within the Hamilton marriage, he understands. So he finds another addiction, and focuses his hopes on the political arena.

“I’m chasing what I want,” he tells him on the campaign. He is trying to explain his forgiveness without revealing their relationship. “and you know what, I learned that from you.” Aaron will not be the only one happy to topple Jefferson’s political dominance. When the vote is recounted and the margins keep sliding, he holds his breath.

Hamilton uses the power he has left. He gathers the few who have not abandoned him after his vicious tirades and public infidelity. And he personally shuts Aaron out of the presidency.

_He didn't even say good bye  
he didn't take the time to lie_

Aaron sinks lower than imaginable. The election of an entire office is transformed to keep him away. The remaining Democratic-Republicans in power closing their doors to him. Even governorship of New York unreachable. And Hamilton believes this is reasonable, a fitting punishment for his caution and privacy.

He has known for ages that Hamilton meant more to him, but insult is another thing entirely. After an outright refusal to apologize, a challenge is issued. Aaron knows that he has no skill in dueling. He recognizes the weapons from his last encounter, with Hamilton’s brother-in-law. Hamilton adjusts his glasses and checks the trigger. Aaron does not want to know what else he wants him away from. He will not watch Hamilton claim another victory. His dear Theodosia will never suffer the fate they have both endured.

Or maybe he will not shoot—how can Aaron know? He thought he understood Hamilton, every part of his body, every intricacy of his mind. Betrayed, again and again, and it ends today. It is ages since he has given himself. Yet he thinks of the feeling of his body yielding, his neck rolled out, Alexander inside, Alexander over him. He remembers letting himself be claimed and discarded.

_Here we are,_ he thinks. _I cannot leave him otherwise, this man that I once loved._ The count begins. He swallows. Alexander stares at him across the ground, arm raising slowly, pistol trained on him. For a moment Aaron wants to run, to stop, to talk it over. He is aimed, but still deciding whether to shoot, when his finger slips and the bullet finds Alexander’s chest.

_I won't go whistling by your grave  
if you don't go whistling in my mind_

He cannot be sorry for it. Honor demanded so much of him. Every accusation of sabotage was true, and he had been sure Alexander meant to kill. The act he has committed only sinks in a few days later. When it is splashed across the paper, he flees both states in which he could be tried. He is still Vice President, but Jefferson looks at him as if he is a demon. After this, there is the probable war with Spain, and his work with Andrew Jackson.

Before he sets out to raise troops, he visits Trinity Church. The flower-seeds he plants in the soil below Theodosia’s headstone; rain will water them. “My dear wife,” he whispers to her. Their daughter looks more and more like her each day. He holds her so tight she squirms, now.

Without planning to, he stops in front of Alexander’s grave. Just as he cannot see into the room where he achieved his financial plan, no history books will detail their days together. They will not know how tenderly he cared for him, only the proof of his later hatred.

He kneels before the grave, rests his gloved hand on the headstone. “The night you became an aide,” he says, throat scratchy and voice hushed, but knowing it will carry to heaven, “I loved you. I cannot talk of my affections, as you were able to. But perhaps you would have hated me if you had known me better then. You were right about my selfishness, I think.”

He wishes he knew whether Alexander meant to die by his hand, but even that would not comfort. With Theodosia, he could direct his anger at God, for taking her away. But this is not a trick anyone has done unto him. This is his rage, and his desperation to be rid of his love, as if death could stop it.

“I still see my mother, the way you do—did. I hated every thought I had against fidelity to my wife, I sought to prove my parents were not wrong for their hopes in me. If I ever lost my child I cannot think of how I would act. Your intimacy with Laurens drove me to distraction. I swallowed misery at the wedding. I loved you, and I believed as you did, most of the time…”

He continues talking, until there are no more secrets left between them. His tears fall upon the headstone. All that he was afraid of, he lays bare. Then there are no more words, and he sinks to sit beside the grave of his friend, his Alexander. That night he is cleansed, and he never can be. In the morning again there will be silence.

**Author's Note:**

> **Come all ye lost: Burr/Hamilton Fanmix**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Portions for Foes, Rilo Kiley: I know I'm alone if I'm with or without you / but just bein' around you offers me another form of relief
> 
> Eric’s Song, Vienna Teng: Ambitions like ribbons worn bright on my sleeve / strange how we know each other
> 
> There’s Too Much Love, Belle and Sebastian: When I am numbering my foes / just hope that you are on my side, my dear
> 
> Tip of My Tongue, The Civil Wars: Oh dear, never saw you coming / oh my, look what you have done
> 
> I Remember, Damien Rice: I was stood in your line / and your mouth, your mouth, your mouth
> 
> Lambs, Kyla La Grange: And I won't join those who do not wait / for they commit their love to an early grave
> 
> Suburban War, Arcade Fire: Now the music divides us into tribes / you choose your side, I’ll choose my side
> 
> Antebellum, Vienna Teng: How I couldn't be what you'd need / but oh how I could make you bleed
> 
> Running Up That Hill, Placebo: But see how deep the bullet lies / unaware I'm tearing you asunder
> 
> I Gave You All, Mumford and Sons: And you rip out all I have just to say that you've won / well now you've won
> 
> Bang Bang, Nancy Sinatra: He didn’t even say goodbye / he didn’t take the time to lie
> 
> Dead Hearts, Dead Man’s Bones: I won’t go whistling by your grave / if you don’t go whistling in my mind


End file.
